


Without You [I Live Without Love]

by non_tiembo_mala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Omega Sam, Schmoop, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-12 23:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7953964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam Wesson has been successfully hiding his Omega status his entire life, thanks in part to his uncharacteristically large and muscled Alpha-like body. But he isn't Alpha, or Beta, no matter how much he tries to blend in, and he's never found anywhere he belongs.</p><p>Dean Smith is the quintessential Alpha. He's smart, fierce, works hard, and has never encountered trouble when he has an itch that needs scratching. But more and more he finds himself longing for that rare connection only found between True Mates. Just when he's ready to give up hope on the dream of finding his, life throws him Sam Wesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Without You [I Live Without Love]

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, where to even start! This fic is a first for me in so many ways. I signed up on a whim when I saw the [spnflashbang](http://spnflashbang.tumblr.com/) floating around on tumblr. It's my first ever challenge! It's also my first time writing Swesson (which I love) and my first time writing ABO (which is my guilty pleasure). That said, mpreg is squicky for me so there is none of that here. Written to fill [this prompt](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/113710.html?thread=41925422#t41925422) on [spnkinkmeme](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/). 
> 
> It's subtle for the most part but I can't really write an ABO fic without giving a nod to the incredibly talented [waywardelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardelle/pseuds/waywardelle), who has written one of my favourites of that trope, and in doing so encouraged me to try my hand at it without being afraid to try and make it my own. She was even kind enough to have a look at this one for me, and I couldn't be more grateful for her input. If you haven't read [The Claiming](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5166644?view_adult=true), you really should.
> 
> I was really anxious about this one and was lucky to have so many keen eyes pour over it for me: [SamDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamDreams/pseuds/SamDreams), [gluedwithgold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gluedwithgold/pseuds/gluedwithgold), and [Dancing_Adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift/pseuds/Dancing_Adrift). Amanda, Jen -- I'd be lost without you. Thank you all putting up with my neurosis.

Sam Wesson has been hiding his entire life. He’s always on the move, never stays anywhere long. He just doesn’t feel like he fits in. He’s never found that place where he belongs. For a lot of that, he blames his biology. When he turned fourteen and presented as an Omega, his family was shocked. Most Omegas are female, and male Omegas - who are exceptionally rare - are slight and somewhat effeminate. Well, even at fourteen Sam was neither of those things - he was already tall and strong for his age, as well as athletically inclined. It didn’t take much begging to get his parents’ permission to let him use concealer for his scent and go on suppressants to put off his heats. The doctor explained the drugs would help him pass as a Beta provided he doesn’t ever encounter his True Mate, which would cause them to fail.

Being Omega means being treated differently - Sam would even go so far as to say poorly - which is one of dozens of reasons he’s not inclined to live that life. Even Betas - humans for all intents and purposes - can still scent and identify Omegas. Lucky for Sam, between the suppressants and the fact that he just _kept_ on growing, hiding himself was all too easy. At a towering six foot four, his frame packed with lean muscle, Sam gets mistaken for Alpha more often than not, but that’s not really who he is either.

Hiding is still complicated. He does okay for a while, but nothing ever feels right. He always feels like he’s drifting. He may not look like an Omega - and he certainly doesn’t live like one, lusting after every Alpha knot within a fifty-mile radius or consumed with dreams of staying at home and raising a family - but he still can’t help some parts of his biology; a part of him longs for his True Mate, that… _wholeness_. He hasn’t been through a heat since he presented, since he’s always been on suppressants, but there’s still this constant echo of emptiness… it’s why he always keeps moving. He can’t stop trying to fit in somewhere, can’t stop trying to find the person who can finally make him _belong_ , even though the last thing he wants is to be trapped and at the whim of an Alpha who thinks he _owns_ him, who doesn’t see him as more than just a warm place to pop his knot.

He spends a lot of time resenting that. He may be Omega but he’s nobody’s bitch. He has a life - or wants to have one, if he can settle somewhere long enough - and he knows what Alphas expect of their Omegas. He doesn’t need some angry, entitled knothead making him feel worse about himself. He knows he’s already a disappointment on account of his body - the sheer size of him - not to mention his other less than Omega-like tendencies. He’s not even sure he’s ever met anyone bigger than he is. He’s twenty-four years old and he’s beginning to think he’s destined to be an outsider and lonely forever; how could anyone want an Omega who doesn’t fit the part?

\---

Dean Smith is the youngest Director of Sales that Sandover has ever had. He made it on the record books at only twenty-eight years old. He’s a paradigm Alpha: he’s strong, sharp, doesn’t back down from a challenge, and works exceptionally hard. He’s fierce, ambitious, and a natural leader. His work is the majority of his life but being wealthy, incredibly handsome, and giving off those Alpha pheromones, Dean has never had trouble scratching any itch. He turns heads wherever he goes, Beta and Omega alike, but more and more lately he’s found he’s really only turning _his_ head in a last-ditch, forlorn search for his True Mate. A lot of the Alphas he knows - mostly other division heads and directors at the company - are all too happy to pop their knot in any of the willing Omegas that’ll hang out in the bars, even take home Betas for a sufficiently satisfying time, but Dean has always marveled at the special bond between True Mates. They’re rare to see because it’s so unusual for Mates to find each other these days, but Dean’s parents were True and he’s never seen anything else like it. Nobody he’s ever brought home has managed to derail the desire of that particular endgame for him; he’s dreamed of finding his True Mate for as long as he can remember.

His position at Sandover kind of locks him down where he is in Ohio and Dean is finally starting to accept the fact that if he was ever going to be lucky enough to find his True Mate in his home city, it would have happened by now. He can feel himself giving up, burying himself more and more in his work, and on the rare occasion when he goes out for drinks with the other directors and department heads after work, nowadays he usually goes home alone.

\---

It’s Sam’s first day on his own at Sandover. He spent the first four days this week off the floor in training - not that he needed it; this is one in a long line of similar jobs - and today is going much the same as every other first day of every other job he’s ever tried to keep. The staff on the Tech Support floor are exclusively Betas, not including Sam of course, since on his paperwork he identifies as Beta. He masquerades as one well enough after the initial dust kicked up by his presence settles. At first he can see his Beta coworkers regard him with the same wariness and skepticism that they direct at Alphas, except with the added confusion of what one would be doing working in a non-management position. When they fail to scent him as an Alpha he can see the change in their demeanour towards him, but… they still don’t usually warm up to him because his stature is still imposing and he doesn’t smell truly like a Beta or an Omega, either. They don’t know what to make of him - his large frame and unplaceable scent - and so begins the tentative but always distant welcome to which he’s grown so accustomed.

So when his neighbour in the cubicle farm, Ian, pokes his head around the makeshift divider mid-afternoon with a smile and an invitation, Sam is surprised to say the least, but not about to turn down a chance to be social.

“Hey, Sam. It is Sam, right?” Ian asks, smirking.

“Sam Wesson, yeah,” he nods.

“Cool. Well, we’re gonna go waste some of the old man’s dime hanging in the copy room. Wanna join?”

Sam blinks at him a moment. He’s not usually one for slacking off on the job, much less on the first day, but he’s not going to say no, not when making friends is so difficult for him.

“Yeah, okay,” Sam says, scrambling to untuck himself from the too-tiny cube he’s stuck in that was clearly constructed with Beta bodies in mind.

He follows Ian to the copy room. It’s more of an area, really, with walls that only go two-thirds of the way up, likely to keep people from loitering there just like they’re about to do. Ian jabbers on about video games and Sam actually plays the ones he’s fanboying over, so he has something to add to the conversation. The rest of Ian’s friends who were waiting for them - they’re a group of four now - accept Sam all the more easily, looking impressed when he starts to describe his Level 78 Guardian.

Ian nudges him so that he’s facing one of the copiers as they stand in a weird kind of circle, half-pretending to use the machines while they talk. Sam is a little nervous, checking over his shoulder constantly because he’s so tall he tends to draw people’s attention, but so far it’s going smoothly and he’s actually quite pleased to be maybe making friends. They’re in the middle of picking a time to hit up the Crucible of Eternity together after work when Sam suddenly feels… _off_. He straightens, instinctively scenting the air and on his next deep inhale it hits him _hard_ \- he’s never smelled anything like it. It’s rich and earthy, with traces of crisp pine, gunpowder and- and _spices_ , like at Christmastime, and it makes his head spin and his heart _ache_ ; his dick twitches with immediate interest, and he can feel himself starting to swell.

His next exhale is shaky - he’s been completely knocked off his centre - and just as he starts to turn behind him, following the scent, there’s a small, sharp pang low in his gut. He winces, surprised. Just when he didn’t think he could get more confused, he feels it: _slick_. He- he’s _leaking_. At the feel of unfamiliar wetness between his cheeks, panic slams into him like a Mack truck. _This- this can’t be happening_.

He spins around, facing the doors at the far end of their cubicle farm that go out to the rest of the building. In front of them is a group of men in suits, head honchos from management upstairs. _Alphas_. And one of them, though he can’t tell which, with them all close together like that, one of them is- is his-

He can’t bring himself to even finish the thought. All he knows is that the smell of his slick is going to be too much for his scent concealers and his cover will be blown. He takes off for the bathroom while Ian, looking stunned, calls out after him if he’s okay.

Sam doesn’t look back. His heart is thudding hard in his chest and his stomach is twisting, tight and bordering on painful as he feels the body-warm, viscous fluid start to trail down the back of his leg. _Fuck fuck fuck_. His dick is getting harder, too, that intoxicating smell still lingering in his nose, and he needs to get away, get somewhere he can clean up and quickly down his emergency stash of extra suppressants and get more concealer on and hope it’ll be enough until he can sneak out of the building.

He ducks into the stairwell at the end of the hall and takes it two storeys up to the training floor where he knows the men’s washroom will have little traffic with all the new trainees having been released to their departments today. He locks the door behind him once he knows it’s empty and tries to get himself together.

His hands shake as he fumbles to get his wallet out of his back pocket and the cramps are making him have to double over a little, lean into the counter. He doesn’t know if it’s safe, but he takes the last three pills in the pack in one mouthful - anything to make this stop. He retreats to a stall to try and clean himself up, still in denial that this is happening, that he could possibly be going into heat. He goes back out to the sinks to vigorously wash his hands and he catches his reflection in the almost-too-short mirror. He’s flushed, blotchy red on his cheeks and neck, and he can feel the way he’s still leaking despite his best efforts to wipe himself clean. His eyes glisten and he can feel it, that he wants to cry, but instead he squeezes them shut, curses his stupid body - the Omega biology he’s been avoiding his whole life - and growling, he puts his fist into the wall.

The force of his punch cracks the tile. The pain in his knuckles is a welcome, momentary distraction from the cramps in his stomach, and he lets out another shaky exhale as he withdraws his arm and looks at his handiwork. _What other Omegas can do that_ , he thinks proudly, but the brief moment of smugness doesn’t last; it doesn’t change what’s happening to him. Resigned, he sighs and takes out the scent concealer from the back section of his wallet. He’s never needed to use it before - the backup wipe in the small plastic packet - because his morning routine of pills has always done the trick, but he’s been prepared for the worst. He tears the square open with his teeth and unfolds the wipe. It has a strong chemical smell that makes him wrinkle his nose but at least it’ll help mask the scent of his heat so he can hope to not be a beacon for every Alpha in the goddamn building. He drags the damp cloth over the pulse points in his neck and at his wrists, then under his arms at his pits and finally between his legs before tossing it in the garbage.

He’s done everything he can do now. He has to get home. It’s going to be like running the gauntlet and he’s not sure it’s worth the trouble. Sam figures he’ll wait it out here in hiding until end of day when most of the other employees have gone home, and then he’ll splurge on a cab just to make sure he doesn’t get fucking jumped before he can retreat to the safety of his apartment. He leans against the wall and slides down it, settling on the floor. He hugs his knees to his chest and tries to ignore the aches in his stomach, the way he’s ready to crawl out of his skin with need, the insistent, hard heat of his dick, and the anguish of being empty.

\---

Dean follows Mr. Adler and his associates into their Tech Support department. Once a month or so they make the rounds, check in with the floor supervisors, and make a show of being seen. Mr. Adler believes it’s good for morale for management to “be accessible.”

It’s not the first time Dean has been through the cubicle farm that is their tech support, but he knows something is different the minute they walk through the doors. It’s subtle at first, but then as they make their way to the floor Dean is completely distracted; his bosses’ voices next to him are just a hum in the background. Dean starts to deliberately scent the air, a kind of desperation bubbling up in his chest that makes him need to get more of it: it’s the smell of a sunny summer day - fresh like newly-mown grass, warm, faintly salty skin, the strong, heady scent of lilacs - and something else sweet like candy.

Dean is dizzy just from the scent of it; he has to put a hand out to brace himself against the wall and close his eyes. Nothing has ever done this to him before, not even any Omega in heat he’s ever come across. His stomach is clenching hard, his dick getting heavy behind his neat, wool slacks and it feels dangerously like the edge of a rut, but when he opens his eyes instead of the redwash he expected, his vision is tinted gold and he can’t help but gasp aloud. _This is actually fucking it_. It- he’s scenting his True Mate.

“Smith,” Mr. Adler sounds concerned. “You alright, son?”

Dean is panting now, trying to catch his breath. He can’t focus to even answer Mr. Adler. His eyes are frantically searching the sea of yellow polos in front of him. He can’t believe this is happening. He thought the tech pool was purely Beta but-

His eyes follow the scent and just as he lands at the copy area at the far end of the room, there’s a yellow and khaki blur as someone takes off down a hallway out of sight.

Dean staggers forward to follow but _Jesus_ he’s been knocked on his ass by this. He feels almost drunk and reaches for the wall again. He can hear Mr. Adler talking behind him, but he moves away anyway. He’s vaguely aware that if the other Alphas can smell his Omega, they aren’t nearly as affected. He’s practically a spectacle right now but he doesn’t care. He has a single-minded focus. He pulls himself together and takes a few deep breaths before stalking over to the copiers. The three Betas standing there look a little stunned and confused and they have the presence of mind and sense of self-preservation to take a few steps back as he approaches with a low, possessive growl in his throat.

Dean looks down the hallway but it’s empty so he stalks towards the Emergency Exit, the stairwell at the far end. He barrels through the door but once he’s there the scent is weaker, scattered and more difficult to follow among all the concrete and steel. His vision clears up and his breathing eases somewhat but he still feels flushed and he’s hard and aching against the zipper of his pants. He sighs, knowing when to retreat. He can’t go back to his bosses in his current condition so he takes the stairs all the way back up to his office on the top floor.

It takes him a good hour to recover, most of which he spends convincing himself that no, he really can’t jerk off under his desk, no matter how badly he wants to. When the worst of it has passed, he still doesn’t feel like he did before - he guesses he may never, now that he’s caught the scent of his True Mate - but at least his dick is finally back with the still-at-work-not-a-good-time program and his heart rate is more normal. He'd immediately gotten on his computer to search their employee records for Omegas but as he suspected there were none on file in the Tech department. He’s not surprised but he is disappointed. He doesn’t even know who he’s looking for.

He sighs. On one hand, he’s elated. He really didn’t think this was ever going to happen for him. His True Mate - someone up there must really love him. On the other hand, surely his Omega was hit just as hard by their encounter - there’s no way they didn’t scent him - but they took off? Dean doesn’t understand. He can’t think of a single thing he’s ever wanted more - even his prestigious and hard-earned career - than to find his True Mate. He can’t imagine running away from it and it leaves him unsettled. He feels anxious in a way that’s completely unfamiliar to him; Alphas are always in control, confident, headstrong. It’s what makes him so good at his job. This feeling of unease is very uncomfortable and completely unwelcome.

Mr. Adler comes in to check on him at their usual end of day. Dean lies his way through it, saying something about not feeling well and needing to get back to his office and sit down, but that he’s feeling better now. Mr. Adler doesn’t look convinced, but Dean talks his way out of it with the same finesse with which he talks his way through sales so that by the time his boss is getting ready to finally leave his office, it’s like he’s completely forgotten about the incident.

“Oh, and Dean,” he pops his head back in around the door. “You can’t stay too late tonight. Remember the memo? All the building’s systems are being overhauled. The place is going on twenty-four hour lockdown as of six o’clock. Go home. Get some rest, feel better, and enjoy your weekend for once, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Dean grins at him and his boss gives him a quick wink before he takes off, closing the door behind him.

Dean sighs again. He has so much work to do and this afternoon’s encounter put him even further behind. He had planned on shutting the place down tonight, but that’s been officially derailed now. He sets to the task of sorting through what he needs to take with him so he can work through it at his home office instead.

\---

Sam cannot recall a time he ever felt so wrung out. He’s in a mild kind of agony the way his stomach keeps cramping and his dick is angrier than it’s ever been. He knows that jerking off won’t do much in the way of alleviating the pain of it all, so he hasn’t given in and let himself, determined to maintain some shred of dignity while his body goes insane, instead suffering as quietly as he can manage while he sweats it out and waits for everyone to leave. There haven’t been any Alphas pounding on the door demanding he let them in to take him, so he can only hope that means the concealer is holding up at least a little.

It’s quite possibly the longest few hours of his life, but Sam knows it’s only going to get worse, and he’ll have to get through it himself. He’s not looking forward to finding out just how long and agonizing his heat can be. When it’s nearly six o’clock, he figures almost everyone has got to be gone by now. He can’t wait any longer to leave. It pains him to stand up - he curses himself the whole way - and he refuses to hunch over as he makes for the exit.

He knows he’s a mess and adamantly refuses to look at himself in the mirror on the way out. There’s nothing he can do. He’s sure his pants are wrecked with slick, he’s sweat clean through his shirt, and his hair is disheveled and sticking up every which way in addition to being plastered in pieces to his face. His body feels weak, like this heat is completely draining him, and he’s thankful to find the lights out and the floor empty when he exits the washroom. He goes straight for the elevator, not about to risk wiping out in the stairwell and breaking his neck.

When he gets to the floor’s lobby, he leans up against the wall between the elevators, pushes the down button, and waits.

\---

Dean knows he’s cutting it close. He keeps stealing glances at his watch as he shuffles through his paperwork, filing some away as required. The next time he checks the hands- _fuck_. How is it five to? He shoves the last of the papers he’s reading into his briefcase, grabs his suit jacket off the back of his chair, and pulls it on as he makes for the door. He figures he has just enough time before it all shuts down to ride the elevator. Walking down the thirteen storeys is unappealling enough that he decides to risk it. Luckily, the car is waiting for him and he hops in, quickly pressing the button for the ground floor.

The elevator starts moving and Dean finds himself sighing again. _His True Mate_. He can’t fucking believe it. On Monday he’ll go through every office if he has to, but he _will_ find them. He feels jittery and warm just thinking about it. It’s going to be a long, insufferable weekend.

And then the elevator stops. Dean is surprised. He didn’t expect anyone else to be wasting their Friday sticking around this late, especially not when the building is being shut down early. The doors open and Dean’s eyes go wide. His mouth drops, stunned.

The guy is a giant. He’s stooped over slightly with one arm clutching at his stomach, his face hidden behind a sweaty curtain of messy hair because his head is tilted down - he doesn’t even seem to notice that Dean is standing in the other corner of the car - but Dean can still tell he’s got to have a few inches on him at least. The yellow polo he’s wearing is snug, tight across his chest, and does nothing to hide the bulge of muscle in the guy’s arms. Dean’s instinct would be to say this guy is an Alpha, towering and fit as he is, but he knows better.

The second the elevator opened, Dean knew. This man - this _huge_ man - is him. _His Omega_. The smell of him hits Dean like a tsunami, hard and almost paralyzing. Dean is seeing gold and the blood rushes to his dick fast enough that he’s suddenly lightheaded. As the guy turns away from him, leaning against the wall while he searches for the buttons on the panel, Dean can _see_ where his Mate’s slick has soaked through his khaki uniform pants and he can feel himself get wet just at the sight of it. He bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood in an effort to not groan out loud.

The guy startles as the elevator doors close and he realizes the button he was looking for is already illuminated, meaning he’s not alone in the car. He spins around to face Dean and as their eyes meet for the first time, Dean can tell his Omega recognizes him - his scent from earlier - his True Mate.

His Omega is nothing like what he ever imagined but absolutely stunning in every way. He’s a few years younger than Dean and has smooth, tanned skin that is practically glowing on account of his heat, flushed and glistening in the dim elevator lights. His lips are a bitten, worried pink, bright and tempting, and Dean was never particularly partial to the tiny, slight frames of typical Omegas but even he’s a little surprised at how the large, muscled body in front of him is doing it for him. His Mate is breathtaking in every sense of the word.

“It’s you…” Dean finally breathes, reverent.

His Omega swallows hard and then one of his giant paws is up between them.

“S-stay back,” he barely manages to get out. Dean can tell he was going for firm but his voice is rough and wavers, undermining his resolve, and his chest is heaving because his heat is in full swing.

Dean’s brow knits together in confusion.

“Sorry?” He splutters out inelegantly, and forces himself to stay rooted where he is, even though every cell in his body is screaming out for him to touch.

“You don’t- I don’t want-” his Omega tries to speak, but his heat is clearly overwhelming. He cuts himself off with a grunt, wincing in pain, and doubles over, dropping to his knees. Instinct takes over and Dean can’t help himself; he’s reaching out to comfort his Mate, getting on his knees beside him.

“Baby,” Dean is practically cooing, trying for gentle, but when his hands light on his Omega’s shoulders, he still flinches away from him. Dean is even more confused. It feels like his heart is shattering.

“It’s Sam,” his Mate hisses, glaring at him from under his hair.

Dean is completely thrown off by the way his Omega recoils from him. He swallows hard and tries to proceed with caution.

“Okay, Sam. I’m Dean,” he offers, trying to put them on level footing. Sam glares at him still but looks pained.

“I don’t care,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re just another asshole Alpha and-”

The car jostles and comes to a sudden stop, the lights shutting off only to be replaced by lower, emergency lighting, and it startles them both. Dean’s stomach drops as he realizes what’s happened.

“What was that?” Sam asks, panicked as he looks up and realizes they’re between floors and the lights on the panel have all gone out.

“There was a memo, earlier this week. The building’s security systems are being overhauled. We’re on lockdown now.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. He looks terrified to think he’s trapped in here with Dean, and Dean’s not sure how much more broken his heart can get. This is _not_ how he imagined it would go when he finally met his True Mate.

“I don’t believe this,” Sam practically wails as another wave of pain goes through him and Dean’s instincts are in overdrive at the sound. His need to comfort his Mate is overwhelming.

“Sam, _Omega_ , please. Let me help-”

He doesn’t miss how Sam shivers when Dean calls him Omega, his voice full of that Alpha tone. It’s even more potent because of their connection, which is far greater than the average Alpha-Omega pairing because they were quite literally born to be together, but still his Mate turns on him, baring his teeth with something very near a growl.

“ _Back off, Alpha!_ ” Sam barks. Despite his heat, it’s far from any small, timid Omega voice that Dean has ever heard before; it sends a ripple down his spine and his eyes flutter to half-mast at the pleasant sensation.

Dean is fairly sure it doesn’t work the same way with non-True pairs, but after a lifetime of watching his parents together, he knows the True Alpha-Omega coupling is a two way street; it’s not about blind dominance and submission. His parents always gave and took equally in everything; his mother’s Omega voice had just as much effect on his Alpha father as the opposite. Sam has used _his_ Omega voice on Dean for the first time and, while it’s helping keep them apart, it still thrills him.

Dean can only - wants to do nothing but - respect his Omega’s wishes and, putting his hands up in surrender, he takes a few steps back and sits down on the floor opposite his Mate.

Sam seems to breathe a little easier now that Dean isn’t right in his space. Dean is glad to help put his Mate at ease but the fracture in his heart only seems to be getting deeper. There’s a desperate hum in Dean’s blood, a near insatiable need, but nothing will appease that if his Omega is telling him no.

“How long are we going to be stuck here?” Sam finally asks, his voice strained.

Dean winces before answering, apologetic. “The lockdown is for twenty-four hours. Someone still might find us before then. Maybe.” He tries to sound hopeful, for his Mate, but Sam actually whimpers at his answer before burrowing his face against his knees and hugging them closer to his body.

Dean aches looking across the elevator at the love of his life, the answer to all his questions, the one person on the entire planet who can make him feel _whole_. He can hear himself waxing poetic but he can’t stop; Sam is everything he didn’t know he was waiting for and, apparently, he wants nothing to do with him.

The thought perplexes Dean in addition to being hurtful. Maybe- maybe he doesn’t understand? About True Mates?

“ _You’re just another asshole Alpha_ -” he replays Sam saying it, thoughtful.

Sam’s not entirely wrong. He is an Alpha, with all the Alpha traits that lead people like Sam to say such things, he supposes, but that’s the beauty of their pairing. As True Mates, they temper one another. Dean’s father was the calmest, kindest, most level-headed Alpha he’s ever met and that’s entirely because of sharing his life with Dean’s mother. He always knew he was lucky to have been close to a True pairing before, but inferring the bad experiences his Mate has had with Alphas in the past only makes him feel that all the more. It also makes him flash red with jealousy; Sam is beautiful. Who knows what history he’s had, who’s had _him_. Dean has to make fists with his hands and breathe out slowly through his nose to clear his vision and get a grip. Getting angry is not going to help him here.

“I’m not just another asshole Alpha, you know,” Dean ventures after a long period of quiet between them, apart from the small, broken sounds coming from his Mate.

Dean worries that Sam is going to ignore him for the duration of their entrapment, but to his relief his Omega looks up at him.

“Excuse me?” he asks.

“Earlier you said- about me. That I was just another asshole Alpha.”

Sam has the decency to look a little sheepish.

“Yeah, well,” is all he says though, with a small shrug of his shoulders. He’s wincing again and still hugging his legs close; Dean can see how hard he’s trying not to writhe with the pain and want. In these close, closed quarters, the smell of his Mate - the proximity of that heavenly slick he keeps leaking - is making Dean feel drunk again. He’s a little glad he’s sitting down.

“You do know it’s different for us, right?” Dean tries again. He has to make sure Sam understands. True Mates - they’re _special_.

“Different for you maybe,” Sam bites back.

“What? No. True Mates are-”

“You’re still Alpha, I’m still Omega. Mating with you - that would be it for me. It’s my life - over. I know what’s expected, Dean. I’ve never wanted that - to be kept by someone. Nobody owns me, got it? I’ve been on suppressants forever, not that they-” he gasps and shudders through another bad wave “-do me any good around you.”

Dean has to shut his eyes to block out the sight of his Mate’s pain, and against a fresh, intense barrage of his scent that has Dean leaking into his briefs, too.

“It’s not like that, Sam. We belong together, to each other. Nobody owns anybody. Not- not for us.”

Dean looks at his Mate in earnest and Sam holds his gaze a moment, contemplating.

“That sounds pretty fairytale to me, Dean. Alpha manipulation. You don’t really believe that.” Sam is quiet but his voice is changed; he’s lost the angry, defensive tone from before and Dean wants to cling to that as a sign that maybe there’s hope for them yet.

“I don’t just believe it, I know it. My parents were True Mates.” Dean waits for Sam’s reaction before saying any more. It certainly works to catch his attention; his Mate’s eyes are on him again.

-

Sam is stunned by the Alpha’s admission. He’s never met a True Pair before, never met anyone who knows one. He’s heard of them - of course he has - but they really are the stuff of Hollywood and fairy tales these days.

Sam does have to concede that Dean isn’t behaving like any Alpha he’s ever seen before. He was expecting to get mauled the second he realized who was in the elevator with him but Dean has been surprisingly respectful, keeping his distance even though Sam can _smell_ his want; it’s making his own heat even worse, ramping up his own need in a vicious, positive feedback cycle of their matched pheromones playing off each other, and he wonders how long either of them will be able to bear it.

He regards the Alpha sitting across from him. He is gorgeous, Sam will give him that. He’s not sure he’s ever laid eyes on anyone that beautiful before. His hair is perfectly styled and smoothed to the side, he’s got freckles sprinkled across his cheeks and nose, and his lips are the most plush, provocative- Sam clears his throat and can’t hold back the roll of his hips. Focusing on Dean’s mouth is decidedly _not_ helpful. Dean is tall, only a few inches shorter than he is, and his body looks strong even from under his expensive suit. Sam can honestly say that if any Alpha was to be his match-

He shuts down that thought right there. He is _not_ entertaining this. He wants to blame his stupid heat for how readily he wants to buy into Dean’s _True Mates_ romantic notions but he’s always known there was a part of him that wanted this. Biology or not, Sam has never fit in. He’s never belonged, and there really is something in Dean’s piercing green eyes when he looks at him that makes him think _maybe this is where I belong_. He aches to be there, in Dean’s arms, to taste him, to be tasted, to give himself over, let himself be taken. But if Sam is being completely honest… more than anything he’s terrified. He’s never exemplified Omega, not even at the start, so what are the chances he could really make his Mate happy? And what kind of a relationship would that be, if Sam was nothing but someone’s consolation prize?

He can feel the tears burning behind his eyes and it makes him feel that same flash of self-loathing he feels on those rare occasions he comes across other male Omegas, so small and slim, easily manhandled and fitting so perfectly in the comforting spaces of their Alphas’ bodies. For every moment he’s resented his biology - every moment he’s resented being Omega at all - he has a moment like this, where that’s not what he hates so much as how he doesn’t fit the mold he was meant to.

Sam’s breath catches in a small sob as he tries to choke down his tears and he hears Dean whimper from across the tiny space. When Sam looks up at him, Dean looks nearly as wrecked as Sam feels.

“Sam, _Omega_ , I’m begging you. I can’t stand to see you cry. Can’t bear to be the cause of it.”

There’s that _thing_ again, in Dean’s eyes. It’s so sincere that Sam can feel his walls coming down.

Dean is dismantling them faster than Sam knows how to deal with it.

He’s crying softly now - he can’t help it, feeling so exposed.

“But… you don’t really want me, _Alpha_ …” Sam whispers. He catches how Dean’s body reacts when Sam calls him Alpha, the shiver that goes through him, the same thrill Sam gets each time Dean calls him Omega. He didn’t know he could do that.

Dean looks almost scandalized at Sam’s words. He hesitates for just a moment, but then crawls forward on his knees until he’s close enough that he can reach out to put a gentle hand on Sam’s arms where they’re wrapped around his legs. Sam can’t even make himself flinch this time, just lets Dean touch him, and even that small, innocent contact makes his body relax somewhat, easing the cramps and making him sigh despite himself.

“ _Omega_ , sweetheart, how can you say that? I’ve been searching for you my entire life.”

Sam feels the pull and comfort of Dean’s voice deep at his core, coiling at the base of his spine. He aches to push into the touch of his palm on his arm but he holds back, even though it pains him.

“Exactly,” Sam agrees as if that proves his point more than Dean’s, and his cheeks are inescapably wet now. Dean looks confused again, so Sam continues.

“Look at me, Dean! I’m a freak! What kind of Omega looks like this? It’s like I’m trapped in an Alpha body. I’m b-bigger than _you_. How could you want that?” Sam’s voice gets so quiet Dean has to lean in to hear him and Sam is sniffling around his words, getting intoxicating whiffs of Dean’s scent with each one.

“I- I’ll never fit right. With you. In y-your arms.” It’s the biggest admission of them all, Sam’s most secret fear.

There’s a moment of silence and Sam finally makes himself look up to meet Dean’s eyes. His Mate is looking at him so softly, so fond, and Sam’s not sure he’s ever been the recipient of a look like that before. He feels like he’s _melting_.

“Is that really what you think, Sam?” Dean’s voice is as soft as his eyes and Sam suddenly knows it beyond the shadow of any doubt, deep in his bones: he is so, so far gone.

“I have never been so relieved. I didn’t see you earlier, downstairs on the floor. I only caught your scent - nearly knocked me on my ass, you smell so fucking good. I didn’t know who I was looking for but I was determined to find you. And then it’s my lucky day again when you stumble into this elevator.”

Sam’s breath shakes in his chest and his whole body trembles as Dean reaches out and brushes the hair off his face, tucking it behind his ear. They’re so, so close, and Sam couldn’t take his eyes from Dean’s now if the elevator caught on fire.

“You’re perfect, _Omega_. I could never want you to be anything but what you are. Please, let me prove it to you?”

Sam can’t believe an Alpha, _his_ Alpha is saying this to him. It makes him giddy with a mixture of disbelief, hope, and relief. He sputters out a small, wet laugh, finally giving in.

“O-okay, Dean,” he says, sniffling. “P-please, _Alpha_. Show me?”

“Oh, fuck,” Dean shudders at Sam’s request - his permission - and his eyes flutter shut and then he’s _right_ there; he makes a space for himself between Sam’s knees, unwrapping Sam’s arms and forcing them open as he leans forward, both his hands going for Sam’s face so he can hold it, edging his fingertips into Sam’s hair, and then he’s kissing him.

Sam has been kissed before, by Betas, even another Alpha once, though he didn’t want or enjoy it, but nothing has ever felt like this. Dean’s mouth is a revelation; he _tastes_ like he smells. It’s warm and comforting and feels like home. Sam moans against his lips and parts his own for Dean’s tongue. It slips inside his mouth and teases him, exploring. Sam sucks on it instinctively, hungry like a creature starved, and then Dean is moaning, too.

Sam is on fire, his very blood sizzling with need and how it feels everywhere Dean is touching him. He can scarcely breathe and his head is swimming. He gets his arms around Dean’s neck, desperate for an anchor as Dean keeps kissing him, ravenous and deep.

His body feels like it’s trying to break apart, be everywhere at once, connect with Dean in every way possible. He can’t stay still, his hips shifting back and forth on their own accord, and he’s so _wet_. There’s slick everywhere, the scent of it heavy and sweet, thick in the air, and Sam can’t stop making noise, moans and whimpers, tiny pleas for everything he needs from Dean, from his Alpha.

“Sammy, baby, _Omega_ , I got you. Let’s take the edge off, okay?” He murmurs against Sam’s mouth and Sam is nodding, begging, even though he can’t think straight enough to guess what Dean’s about to do.

It doesn’t take much. Sam’s been waiting, on the edge ever since he first scented Dean, and he’s so strung out from his heat and high on Dean’s proximity now that Dean barely gets a hand on his dick before Sam is crying out and coming. His Mate rocks against the bulge in his pants with the heel of one hand, working him through it as he shudders and spills in his pants, adding to the soaking mess that he is.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Dean is cooing again, soft and encouraging, nuzzling along Sam’s jaw with little nips, licks, and kisses. “Now you can relax a little. Gonna make it better, okay? Let me show you, _Omega_ , how we fit together.”

Sam keens at Dean’s words, whimpers when he takes his hands away. Dean sits back on his heels and Sam feels spineless after coming but somehow still strung out, still desperate and aching, the sensation of being empty - hollow - still overwhelming.

If Sam ever doubted that Dean could handle him, Dean starts to prove him wrong now. He tugs Sam’s legs so they’re sprawled out in a vee on either side of him. Sam just watches as Dean tears off his shoes, goes for his belt and starts to strip him down. He gets Sam’s pants open and rolls them and his ruined boxers down his thighs with an efficiency that might be scary if it wasn’t so damn _hot_.

“After this, baby, after your heat, we’ll take it slow. Gonna love on every perfect inch of you. Right now, though…” Dean tosses Sam’s pants in the corner behind them and tears his yellow work shirt up over his head. “Right now we’re going to do this hard and fast. I’m going to fill you up so you can stop hurting, baby boy, my _Omega_.”

Sam can only imagine how he looks right now, naked and flushed, shiny with the combined mess of his come and slick, but he’s so consumed with need for Dean, for his Mate, that he can’t bring himself to care. His body moves with Dean’s voice, aches and arches at his words, desperate and completely at his mercy.

“Please, _Alpha_ , please. Please, please, _Alpha_ ,” he can’t stop babbling now, begging, dragging out Alpha into long, pained whines while his hands reach for Dean, needing to touch, to bring him back.

Dean is on his knees between Sam’s spread ones, tugging his tie loose and slipping it off. He’s ruthless as he strips himself down, and Sam moans more with each layer he sheds.

“Gotta feel you, Sam,” Dean mumbles, almost to himself, and he’s breathless by the time he’s naked, too.

Sam is already hard again and feels himself gush at the sight of Dean bare before him, his long Alpha cock thick and red with blood, shiny at the tip. The smell of him is so strong now that Sam can barely see straight. He wants to get his face in there, lick and taste and breath it all in deep, but he also _needs_ to get fucked, filled and stretched on his Alpha’s knot.

Sam is frozen, trapped between everything he wants, and noticing his hesitation, Dean pauses.

“Baby, _Omega_ , have you ever- is this-” he struggles with the words like he’s bracing himself for the answer. “Will I be your first knot?”

Even wrecked as he is by his heat, Sam can feel himself blush deeper when nods. Dean growls as he descends on him, taking his mouth in a searing, possessive kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and _need_. Sam is gasping when Dean eventually pulls back.

“I want to look at you, Sam, see your pretty face, but we’re going to be stuck here a while, so... _on your hands and knees, Omega_ ,” Dean practically purrs, rumbling and low in his chest, and Sam scrambles to do as he says, shivers running up and down his spine, his toes curling just from the quality of his Mate’s voice.

Sam can feel Dean shuffle up behind him, and his body is tight, drawn like a bow with anticipation. He shifts his hips back, searching, and hears Dean suck in a breath.

“God, look at you,” Dean whistles low, real awe in voice, and his hands come up to palm over Sam’s cheeks. He drags a finger down the crack of Sam’s ass, through his slick, then presses it into his hole like it’s nothing. Sam cries at the touch - it’s not nearly enough - and he pushes further back still, begging for more without words. Dean seems to understand, slipping two more in and starting to stretch and stroke at Sam’s insides. Sam can’t help but bear down on them, clinging to the slight relief, the pressure of the intrusion. When Dean withdraws them Sam frantically looks back over his shoulder just in time to see them disappear between Dean’s lips as he sucks them clean. Sam is ready to shake apart, whining mindlessly and feeling more of his fluid drip down the back of his thighs.

“Taste as good as you smell, Sammy, fuck,” Dean is growling again, both hands on Sam’s ass and pulling his cheeks apart. “God, next time, baby. Next time.”

And then, _finally_ , Sam feels the head of Dean’s cock nudging at his hole; he sucks in a breath.

“ _Relax_ ,” Dean purrs. Sam can only melt into that sound, and then Dean is pushing in, smooth and with so little resistance from Sam’s body, which is only too ready to take him in.

“ _Alpha_!” Sam cries out as Dean buries himself all the way to the base, until Sam’s ass is snug against the flat of his tummy. Dean leans over him, slipping an arm around his chest to help keep him up, nipping and kissing along the top of his shoulder.

“Fuck, baby, _yeah_. So good, Sam. Do you see? How well we fit together? Do you feel it? You’re fucking built to take me, _Omega_.”

Dean inside him feels better than anything Sam’s ever known, and the relief of finally feeling full brings new tears to the corners of his eyes. He nods frantically, agreeing - _God, Dean, yes._ Alpha _, please, you feel so good. Need you,_ Alpha _, fuck me, please_ \- and trembles violently, his muscles weak and his body is held up by his skeleton and Dean’s arm, but then Dean lets go, pulling back while still grinding his hips against Sam’s ass, staying buried deep, and starts to move him.

“This will be easier, baby. Like that, yeah. Gonna fuck you so hard,” Dean’s voice is encouraging but still laced with that growl that makes Sam shiver. Dean eases him forward, pushes him down onto his elbows with a firm hand at the nape of his neck, tucking his knees under him and pulling his hips back and up, so Sam is presenting for him. It’s such a vulnerable, trusting position and Sam’s never done this before, never been ass-up for anyone; it’s exhilarating and even though he’s submitting, Sam feels safe and, somehow, _empowered_. Sam knows he’s the bigger of the two of them but Dean feels huge above him, surrounding him. Dean’s knees bracketing either side of him and he covers him completely, shielding him. No one has ever made Sam feel _small_ before and he wants to get lost in this feeling forever.

Dean grabs onto Sam’s waist and starts to fuck him in earnest. Sam rests his head on his forearms as Dean pulls back and thrusts in hard at a punishing pace. The slap of their skin is loud in the close quiet of the lift and as Dean speeds up Sam can start to feel the growing stretch at his rim as Dean’s knot starts to swell. The sensation is so fucking good - it’s too much - Sam can barely breathe. He’s so close.

“Dean, please. _Alpha_ ,” Sam pleads, pushing back to meet his thrusts. This is it - what his body’s been craving - his Alpha’s - his True Mate’s - knot.

“Oh, god, _Sam_ ,” Dean moans behind him. “Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, baby, c’mon, _ah_ -!”

Dean cries out as his knot expands all the way, his fingertips digging into Sam’s hips hard. He’s gasping and sighing Sam’s name, and then Sam is coming again, too, untouched, just from the perfect feeling of being split in two by his Mate, of being filled by him, being made _whole_ in that way he’s been missing his entire life. He sighs, beyond content, shaking minutely from the force of his second release, and he can feel Dean’s dick pulsing inside him, pumping him full of his come.

He glances back over his shoulder at his Mate. Dean is beautifully flushed, his eyes glossy, and he looks every bit as fucked-out and debauched as Sam feels. He gives Sam a kind of dopey smile and leans down to kiss at his back, drag his teeth along Sam’s skin and make him shiver.

“C’mere, sweetheart. Lie down now, that’s it,” he murmurs as he carefully helps maneuver them both down onto their sides, slipping his arm under Sam’s head as a pillow. Dean spoons him, tucking him in close and Sam’s hips are pressed into Dean’s lap where they’re still locked together by his knot - for how long, Sam isn’t sure. He knows it can be a while. Dean is happily humming behind him, smoothing his hand up Sam’s side and across his stomach and chest, kissing at his neck, teasing with his teeth.

“Oh, _Omega_ , so good, you did so good, baby,” Dean purrs and Sam melts against him. He’s loose and quivering weakly in his Mate’s arms. Dean took him apart and he’s building him back up with every gentle twitch of his hips as he keeps filling him.

“Dean,” Sam sighs, smiling.

Sam is floating. He’s sated and like putty under Dean’s palm as it moves across his skin. Dean reaches for Sam’s hand and presses it, open, against his abdomen. Sam gasps.

“Can you feel me, Sam? Feel me here,” Dean whispers, a smile on his lips before he licks up the shell of Sam’s ear. Sam shudders.

“I feel you, Dean- _Alpha_ ,” Sam moans, feeling the bulge of Dean against his hand, under his skin.

“Mmm, Sammy,” Dean says, lips open against Sam’s neck. “Do you believe me now? Did I convince you?”

Dean’s teeth drag down his neck, and he flexes his jaw around the meat of Sam’s shoulder, not hard enough to mark, but teasing; it’s a promise and Sam knows it.

“ _Yes, Alpha_ ,” Sam sobs, pushing up into Dean’s bite, begging. Dean hasn’t claimed him yet but Sam wants him to, badly. He _belongs_ here, with Dean, like he’s never belonged before, and he wants to stay. Forever. Whatever his life was before, whatever he thought it would be if he mated, none of that stands in the face of what Dean is giving him.

“Please,” Sam whispers, and even though he doesn’t say what he’s asking for, he can tell Dean understands by his knowing nod, the way he smiles. Dean chuckles, low and dark in a way that speaks directly to Sam’s dick, which is - astoundingly - hard again, though he guesses he has his heat to thank for that.

 

“Yeah, Sammy, I will. Wanted you to be sure, baby. Wanted you to want it,” Dean goes back to kissing his shoulder and the hand covering Sam’s leaves it on his tummy to move up his body instead. He gets one of Sam’s nipples between his fingers, squeezing and tugging at it, and he seems pleased by the way Sam hisses and arches into the pull.

Dean doesn’t let up. He rolls the bud between his fingers until Sam is ready to cry and then switches to the other, leaving the first red and swollen. By the time Dean is satisfied with both, Sam’s cock is aching and wet, precome dotting his belly wherever it keeps bumping into him.

“Dean, _please_ ,” Sam begs, brought to the edge for a third time. He’s not sure he can take anymore.

“Shhh, baby, I know. I got you. Didn’t want it to hurt, _Omega_ , when I make you mine.” Dean pours it on thick, the Alpha in his voice, and it helps ease Sam’s worked-over nerves.

Dean moves his hand to wrap it around Sam’s dick, and Sam moans at the touch. He starts to jack him in a smooth, steady rhythm, an echo of the pulsing inside Sam’s body where he’s still coming, though Sam imagines he has to be almost finished now. He feels Dean trace his lips down his neck again, his mouth opening at the junction where it meets his shoulder, and as his teeth sink into his flesh, Sam cries out and comes a final time, nearly convulsing with the strength of it. He’s wrung practically dry but it’s so intense coupled with his Mate’s claiming bite. As it finally subsides, his eyes and body get heavy, and he succumbs to the exhaustion, passing out in Dean’s arms.

\---

“ _Alpha_ ,” his Mate sighs and then goes limp against him. Dean unhooks his jaw and takes his teeth out of Sam’s body, lapping eagerly at the blood that beads up and kissing the marks. Dean is done now; his knot has gone down and he’s as spent as the Omega - _his_ Omega, his beautiful, extraordinary Mate - who lies sleeping, well-fucked and full, against his chest.

He’s in no hurry to move; it’s not like they have anywhere to go. He stays where he is, soothing the bite on Sam’s shoulder with his tongue, nuzzling in under his hair and staying high off his scent. Sam is soft in his hand and he lets him go gently, even though he sleeps, and brings his hand up to his mouth so he can lick it clean of Sam’s come. He doesn’t pull his hips back, keeping his body flush with Sam’s, but when he eventually softens enough and slips out of his Mate he whimpers a little and hugs him more tightly.

He’s exhausted, too, and he reaches for Sam’s shirt to put under his own head as a makeshift pillow. There’s nothing to be done about their situation for the time being, but at least his Omega sleeps now, a brief respite from the throes of his heat, and that’s good enough for Dean. Whatever Sam needs - that will always be enough for him. They belong to each other now.

Tomorrow, hopefully sooner rather than later, someone will find them - it’d be hard not to, really, the undeniable scent of their mating will be seeping out of the lift all night long - and Dean is looking forward to their freedom. He’s going to take Sam home, care for him through his heat, and rebuild the rest of his life around his Omega, his True Mate, his dream come true.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! ❤


End file.
